


The Ghosts Of Home

by sheiruki



Series: How it began [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Family Reunion, Gen, Raven Rock, Solstheim, Trying to fix things, estranged family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 01:49:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22003297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheiruki/pseuds/sheiruki
Summary: Rashkan returns to his family home on Solstheim to make peace with the family he left 50 years ago without saying a word.
Series: How it began [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584193
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4





	The Ghosts Of Home

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a bit of character development. It doesn't require any previous knowldedge about my OC though; most things should be self-explanatory.

When he left Raven Rock, he could already see the tiny house in the distance. The fence around the small garden patch had fallen over, the front door barely clung to its designated spot and the paint had long since peeled off the walls; if it had not been for some sorry ash yams that had been planted in the grey soil and the smoke coming out of the chimney as well as some holes in the roof, Rashkan could have sworn the house was deserted.

He took a deep breath, swallowed the lump in his throat and knocked, hoping the door would not fall out of its hinges.

Nothing happened. He waited for a short while, then turned to leave. Just as he had taken a couple of steps back towards Raven Rock, he heard the door open with a loud wail.

“You?”

Rashkan froze. A sense of dread filled him and, had he been mortal, Rashkan was sure his heart would be bursting right out of his chest. When he finally managed to turn around, he saw his brother standing in the doorway. He was leaning on a crutch, his clothes looked ragged and were patched with mismatched fabric in numerous places. His greying, barely tamed hair ran just over his shoulders; years of trouble were etched into his forehead, and yet, the lines at the corners of his eyes told tales of laughter.

“Dralas-" Rashkan began.

“What do you want?," He snapped.

“Dralas… may I come in?” Rashkan asked. His brother’s sandals suddenly became incredibly fascinating.

“No, you may not. If mother sees you it might break her poor old heart. You should have seen her after you left. Dad and I almost had to force her to eat. You should be glad it’s me who opened the door, and not him. He would’ve chased you away by now.”

“Speaking of father, what is he doing, now that the mines are closed?”

“Fixes things around town; right now, he’s helping Geldis set up a new distillery. It’s not much, but we have to make do now, don’t we?”

If he were not undead already, Dralas’ stare would have killed him right then and there.

Rashkan sighed: ”I’ve come to apologise. And I know you want nothing to do with me anymore, but please let us talk. I live quite comfortably in Winterhold; I have money – enough to at least fix the roof. I am sure we can start anew.”

Rashkan watched as Dralas’ expression turned from angry to pensive and back again.

“Listen Rashkan, I’m sorry but you’re fifty years too late. We managed to survive all this time while you were comfortably sitting on your ass doing your little magic tricks. I sincerely hope it was worth it. In any way, we don’t need your newfound benevolence.”

“Dralas!” a woman’s voice, gravelly and hoarse, called from within the house.

“A moment!” Dralas called back.

“Don’t you dare follow me inside!” Dralas threatened.

Before Rashkan could say anything, he had vanished behind the door.

Despite his better judgement, Rashkan cast a muffle spell on himself, pushed the door open barely enough to slip inside and did just that. The house was sparsely furnished; a bedroll lay in one corner of the room, while in the other a bucket was placed under one of the larger holes in the roof. The fireplace was filled with embers, but it did little to warm even the small room.

To his left, Rashkan found the entrance to his parents’ bedchamber. A tattered, dirt-spotted curtain served as a door. Rashkan peeked through one of the holes. His mother lay in bed, her long hair spread across the pillow in pathetic wisps. Her face was gaunt, almost skeletal and her bony arms hung limbly at her sides. In the back of the room Dralas was preparing a glass of water.

“I heard you talking to someone. Was it about the money?” she croaked.

“Yes, Mogrul again”, he answered as he brought the water to his mother’s bedside. He carefully took her head in his arms and brought it to her lips.

“I hope Geldis pays today. That would give us some more room to breathe.”

Rashkan watched as his mother eagerly drank the water. When she was done Dralas took a rag from the nightstand and wiped her mouth clean.

“Tell Mogrul to wait until later this evening. Geldis usually pays on time.”

“Fine, I’ll do that. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. Go now, don’t keep Mogrul waiting. We can’t afford having Slitter at our throats again”

Dralas placed the empty glass on the nightstand, grabbed his crutch, and hobbled towards the curtain.

Rashkan looked around and found the door almost shut behind him. Too narrow for him to fit through. He had to react quickly. Bedroll. Chimney. Bucket. No place to hide! He panicked and without thinking, turned into a swarm of bats and raced out through the hole in the roof. Rashkan sincerely hoped that nobody saw him when he turned back into a dunmer, but the lack of screams calling for his death reassured him. Dralas appeared in the doorway not a second too soon and Rashkan tried his hardest to look as inconspicous as he could. Yes, those were some truly pathetic ash yams.

“Sorry for the wait," Dralas slightly bowed his head.

“All is well," assured Rashkan, his gaze still fixed on the yams. “As I said, I cannot change the past, but I can try making up for it. Please, allow me to atone. Allow me to help you get this place back into shape.”

Dralas took a few steps forward.

“Look at me," he commanded. His gaze was cold and piercing.

“We don’t need your money, Rashkan. We don’t need your money and we don’t need you! I haven’t had a brother for 50 years and as far as I’m concerned, I don’t have one now.”

Rashkan wanted to answer, to say something – anything really, but the words got stuck in his throat and mingled with the rising bile. He clenched his fists and for the blink of an eye, he thought about punching Dralas straight in the nose. How could he possibly say something like that?!?

“Fine!”, spat Rashkan. “Then keep worrying about the next meal, keep the hole in your roof – I’m sure you’ll love the ash falling into your home-, and keep waiting for the next payment. I’m sure Mogrul will be most understanding.”

Dralas’ eyes widened. He was shaking. “Get lost," he clenched his fist around his crutch until his knuckles turned white. Rashkan did not move.

“I said: Get lost!” he screamed, raising his crutch to hit Rashkan - who effortlessly dodged the attack. Dralas crashed to the ground. Rashkan held out his hand to help his brother back on his feet but Dralas swatted it away.

“Go Rashkan. Just get lost," he winced. His voice was quiet and Rashkan could have sworn that his tone betrayed a hint of sadness.

Rashkan closed his eyes and sighed.

“It was nice seeing you again," he said, turned around and walked away. Back towards Raven Rock.

_How could he?_

Rashkan was fuming. He quickened his pace, his eyes fixed on the ground before him.

_How dare he???_

“Rashkan? Is that you?”

Rashkan stopped dead in his tracks. He glanced up… and into the eyes of a man he had not seen in 50 years. His face looked haggard, riddled with deep lines and creases, and his sweaty grey hair clung to his forehead. His eyes, however, -while tired- beamed with hope.

“I am sorry, but you are mistaken. I have never heard that name before," he said flatly as he watched that hope die a slow, painful death.

Before his father could say anything, Rashkan had already turned around and hurried towards the harbour.


End file.
